“What do you think of that?” he asked when he had calmed down. “That’s the sort of stuff they try to get past you! He’s going to quit in the middle of a picture! Did you hear him? That cissy-boy! That mouse! Say, Brixan, would you like to play opposite this girl of mine? You can’t be worse than Connolly, and it would fill in your time whilst you’re looking for the Head-Hunter.” Michael shook his head slowly. “No, thank you,” he said. “That is not my job. And as for the Head-Hunter”—he lit a cigarette and sent a ring of smoke to the ceiling—“I know who he is and I can lay my hands on him just when I want.” CHAPTER XIV MENDOZA MAKES A FIGHT JACK stared at him in amazement. “You’re joking!” he said. “On the contrary, I am very much in earnest,” said Michael quietly. “But to know the Head-Hunter, and to bring his crimes home to him, are quite different matters.” Jack Knebworth sat at his desk, his hands thrust into his trousers pockets, a look of blank incredulity on the face turned to the detective. “Is it one of my company?” he asked, troubled, and Michael laughed. “I haven’t the pleasure of knowing all your company,” he said diplomatically, “but at any rate, don’t let the Head-Hunter worry you. What are you going to do about Mr. Reggie Connolly?” The director shrugged. “He doesn’t mean it, and I was a fool to get wild,” he said. “That kind of ninny never means anything. You wouldn’t dream, to see him on the screen, full of tenderness and love and manliness, that he’s the poor little jellyfish he is! As for Mendoza——” he swept his hands before him, and the gesture was significant. Miss Stella Mendoza, however, was not accepting her dismissal so readily. She had fought her way up from nothing, and was not prepared to forfeit her position without a struggle. Moreover, her position was a serious one. She had money—so much money that she need never work again; for, in addition to her big salary, she enjoyed an income from a source which need not be too closely inquired into. But there was a danger that Knebworth might carry the war into a wider field. Her first move was to go in search of Adele Leamington, who, she learnt that morning for the first time, had taken her place. Though she went in a spirit of conciliation, she choked with anger to discover that the girl was occupying the star’s dressing-room, the room which had always been sacred to Stella Mendoza’s use. Infuriated, yet preserving an outward calm, she knocked at the door. (That she, Stella Mendoza, should knock at a door rightfully hers was maddening enough!) Adele was sitting at the bare dressing-table, gazing, a little awe-stricken, at the array of mirrors, lights and the vista of dresses down the long alleyway which served as a wardrobe. At the sight of Mendoza she went red. “Miss Leamington, isn’t it?” asked Stella sweetly. “May I come in?” “Do, please,” said Adele, hastily rising.